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— % & — % & — % & — % & — % & — % &

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There is hope in life
3-D printing steps to climb,
And then there is me.

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Death, is no stranger to me.
.
.
.
So, what is death, if not a stranger?
[Captioned]

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Sunday is a jet whose
trail is all I
see every week.

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Sunday is that mosquito that's
always there, but escapes
before we catch.

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A rose that momentarily masks
the putridity of death
in a grave.

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Tell me why the earth is a cuboid.
Tell me why the sun is blue.

Tell me why only I see a heap of
sc att ere d lies and shattered hopes
in this world so huge...

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I wish under the sun that shadows be celebrated, pray in the dark that light make way—a juxtaposed oxymoron, aren't I?

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